Blessing in Disguise
by SpitzeFeder
Summary: Whump and care, mostly Conrads POV: The Resident tries to ignore a health problem till he needs all the help he can get. But in terms of family this problem could turn out as a blessing in disguise. Could take place in Season 2, Ep. 2.
1. Chapter 1

_There is far not enough FanFiction about The Resident ... and even further not enough Conrad whump. Here´s my approach to do something about this circumstance: mainly Conrad whump and care. The Resident tries to ignore a health problem till he needs all the help he can get. Could take place in Season 2, Ep. 2._

_English is not my first language, and the second season is not aired in Germany yet, so forgive me any off-canon or off-language-interpretations. I do not own anything and have great respect for the screenplay-writers. Enjoy and review! _

_Will update regularly. _

* * *

Chapter 1.

Conrad hated these meetings. Just sitting in a room with his father made him feel physically sick. The sullen looks from both sides, the unspoken accusations. But the presence of Dr. Bell made things even more unbearable. Why was he here?

"I set up this meeting to find solutions. Chastain needs revenue to make payroll, it also needs to be a beacon of excellence. You both have a point." His fathers voice echoed in his head.

His father could do his worst with the clinic. That did not affect Conrad. At least he wished that it did not concern him, that he did not care. But his father had not only used his status as Chairman of the Board to bring Conrad into this predicament: the `needs of the employees` should be discussed, the `wishes of the medical profession.`

"Conrad, if you had a magic wand, what would you do first to improve the hospital?"

Conrad had more than clearly expressed these `wishes and needs`: better equipment, more time for individual patientcare, more freedom in choice of diagnostic and treatment methods. More nurse practitioners. More doctors. Overall more hospital staff, especially in the ER.  
The two gentlemen had noted these wishes and needs `benevolently for consideration` what felt to Conrad like hours ago, but his desire to return to his work had been rejected. `In course of transparency` he should also be present for the rest of the conversation, too.

He knew exactly what his father aimed for: appeasing, showing to his only son, that he as investor of the clinic could be of help for Chastain, and with that for Conrad. To Conrad it was clear: his father tried to buy himself way back into his life.

As if he had not done enough with settling the bail for Nic's release. As if Conrad didn't know that he was now inevitably bound to his father. That he was in his hands again, as he had done in the past, in the endless negotiations on custody, the accompanied, forced visits to his father: Thanksgiving here, Christmas there. Conrad had hated that time: being at a loss, on the mercy of others, limiting his own choices. As a kid he had hated his father, who embodied it all.

He was no longer a child, not a teenager, but dwelling in these thoughts still left Conrad breathing harder, barely holding him in his chair. The black coffee was long gone, and Conrad waited eagerly for the sound of his beeper who would finally call him back to his patients.

This conversation almost caused him nausea.  
Or was it just the continuation of the episodes he had felt over the past few days?

He felt stressed, yes. Nics trial was appoaching, Lilly´s death still haunting his dreams. That his father has re-entered his life, in this unbelievable, and yet for Nic so happy chance, was confusing and embarrassing Conrad even more.

For that it was not surprising, that his stomach turned over on a regular basis, that he could not eat anything. All sports – running, cycling, push-ups, if he could not sleep at night, did not help to reduce this stress. He felt constantly under pressure, slept poorly, ate barely and pulled double shifts at the clinic, only interrupted by short trips home for a quick shower, or a few hours of restless sleep on one of the bunks in the call-room. Conrad had soon realized that he could not go on like this for much longer, that his body would eventually show him that it was too much. But right now he was not ready to accept that.

"Conrad."  
"Conrad?" His fathers asking tone tore him out of his thoughts.  
"We´ll talk next time, I have to catch my plane to Pensylvania."  
"We´re happy to have you with us, Marshall," Bell crawled, his face showing a strained smile.

Like in trance, Conrad braced himself out of the chair, Bells office blurring in front of his eyes. He pinched his eyes close to stop the carusell. What was going on?

Neither Bell nor his father had noticed the brief uncertainty. Without getting his thought together, Conrad shook hands with his father as he bid him farewell, and without really noticing, allowed Marshall Winthrop to hug him.

"Goodbye, father". In his mind, Conrad was somewhere else. He did not notice the worried look his father shot him as their arms parted. As though through a veil, he watched Dr. Bell accompanying the investor to the heavy leather door and greeting goodbye with a strong handshake. A handshake, which was certainly painful for both sides according to the look on the faces of the two older man.

Conrad could not suppress a grim smile, but unvoluntarily his hand moved to his right side as the sharp pain that had been haunting him for the last few days reappeared and a wave of nausea rose in him. Without thinking, he groped his way backwards and sank down on an armrest with a short grunt. At that very moment, Dr. Bell turned to look at him again.

Almost conspiratorially he grimaced as he exhaled, searching for Conrads gaze:  
"Your father is really a cunning scoundrel," he said, not unimpressed, and took the few steps towards the sitting doctor.  
"No kidding," Conrad soliloquized.  
"I am not surprised that you yourself insist so often on your own perspective, Hawkins. You seem to be all your fathers son. But without the persistent business sense, I´m afraid."

He had stopped in front of Conrad and looked down at him. Conrad, who had turned his head away to focus von breathing, barely managed to grimace at the absurd statement. Bell´s eyes narrowed:  
"Is everything alright?" he asked when Conrad finally turned his gaze back to the Chief of Surgery.  
"You do not look well, Conrad." He smiled a little wicked.  
"Did the encounter with your dad afflicted you so much?" he tried to joke.

Conrad forced himself to breath deeper. The last thing he needed was to collapse in Bell´s office. Even if a load of vomit could be beneficial to the surely outrageously expensive, ugly carpet. But Bell was a physician after all, though not a good one in Conrads eyes.  
He knitted his brows, as he addressed him again.  
"Are you sick, Conrad?"

A hand landed on his shoulder, apparently to gain his attention. But Conrad stood up jerkily and was glad to only sway slightly, and not prostrating straight in front of Bell.

"I´m fine, Dr. Bell. No worries. I ...,"  
he ran a hand over his face. Did he feel beads of sweat? When did he start to sweat like that?  
"I have not eaten today." That was no lie.  
"My blood glucose is in the dumps."

Bell did not believe him, that much he could see.

"Hawkins, if you´re sick you better head home and cure that."  
Bell´s face returned to its usual hard features.  
"That´s just what Chastain needs right now: a doctor who infects his patients with infuenza or a gastrointestinal virus."

Conrad was almost at the door as Bell barked after him: "Conrad, do you hear me?"  
"I don´t want you here when you´re sick. That´s my responsibility as your employer, too."

Conrad could not help it: his head had started to spin again and involuntarily he leaned into the office door. Bell was with him in two strides, this time he reached more purposefully for Conrad´s wrist. Two fingers on his pulsepoint, Bell shook his head and reached up to lay the back of his hand against Conrads neck.  
"Your heart is racing and you run a fever," he stated.

Conrad concentrated on breathing. He wondered if Bell would have come so close if he knew how close Conrad was to puking right over his shoes?

"You should be in bed. Take two Paracetamol and drive home."

Conrad quietly shook his head.

"Why not, Dr. Hawkins?" Bell snapped irritably, his voice growing louder with every phrase.  
"You think you are the only doctor who really is there for the patients at Chastain, right? But I tell you, you are mistaken, Dr. Hawkins!  
Do you follow my commands now and drive home?"

Conrad dropped his head.  
"I," he swallowed. "I´m here by bike."

For a second Bell stared at him in disbelief, then reached past Conrad for the doorknob and spoke through the open door to his secretary. "Elaine, would you call a cab for Dr. Hawkins? It´s supposed to be waiting at the main entrance."  
He shot Conrad an angry gaze.  
"He´ll come down in a few minutes."

He spit every word at Conrad´s feet as he opened the door and basically pushed the young doctor out of his office while reaching for the disinfectant in his pocket with the other hand.  
"And if you´ re not feeling better tomorrow, then call in sick. Only disease-free you are of use here!"

Conrad was no longer listening. Without a word he trudged past Elaine and marched down the hall as determinedly as possible. As little as Conrad liked the fact, Bell was probably right: if he was carrying some kind of infection it would be his responsibility to hit the bed at home. A quiet dark room, a soft bed ... and a bucket within easy reach sounded more than tempting. He still could inform Pravesh after he arrived at his appartment.

At this thought another surge of nausea overtoke Conrad. This time so strong he headed straight for the next men´s room. He was almost glad to finally be able to give in the urge to puke. Whatever messed up his stomach, it had to go now.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

"Has anyone seen Hawkins?" Irving Feldman scouted through the ER.  
"He has promised to be back by three at the latest."  
"Probably there was still caviar in the head office, and that has a best-before-date!" Ellen at the ER-desk joked.

Nic smiled, then targeted her colleagues with her eyes.  
"It´s not Conrads fault that his dad pushed him to this appointment," she defended him without much enthusiasm.  
"I can assure you he probably suffers more than Mr. Grossman in bed no. four."

"Uh, big man with the bacterial gastrointestinal flu. Good comparison, Nic. Chapeau." Feldman replied.  
Nic smiled and implied a mocking bow.

"I can call upstairs to ask how much longer the meeting will take," Ellen, the emergency room nurse, offered.  
"Can say Dr. Hawkins is baaaadly needed down here." She looked around the rather quiet emergency room with a mischievous smile and laid her big hand gently on Nic´s arm. The young nurse practitioner smiled:  
"You´d probably do him a big favour with that, Ellen."  
The two women clasped their hands warmly in friendship and smiled.

"Dr. Hawkins? Dr. Conrad Hawkins?"  
Just as Nurse Ellen was picking up the phone to call the executive suite, a taxi driver turned the corner and headed for the ER-reception desk.

"Dr. Hawkins is not here," Nic replied. "Why are you looking for him?"

"Lady, my taxi is waiting for him since 20 minutes at the main entrance.  
"I´m supposed to pick him up."

Nic furled her eyebrows.  
"And who ordered you?" she asked.  
"Well, the board room. Said I should wait for Dr. Hawkins and drive him home."

"Why should Conrad order a taxi?" Concern and confusion were clearly written across Nic´s face.  
"You ask me too much, lady. I only drive the taxi," the driver replied.

Ellen, in turn, reached for the phone and dialed a number.  
"Shall I continue to wait or not? The taximeter is running, lady."  
Nic waved her hand impatiently towards the driver, motioning him to be quiet while Ellen spoke to Elaine.

"Hm, ok, I´ll pass it on. Yes. Alright."  
The emergency-nurse ended the call and looked up to Nic and Feldman with concern.  
"I´m afraid Conrad was rather unwell upstairs after the meeting. Bell send him home and instructed Elaine to call a taxi."

"Not feeling well, what does that mean? What´s wrong with him?"  
Feldman had lost any joke in his voice and looked worriedly from Ellen to Nic.  
"The secretary could not tell. Except that he was very pale and left the office rather hastily."  
"And Bell? And his father? Did they not say anything?" Nic was getting upset now, too.  
"Mr. Winthrop is on his way to the airport and Dr. Bell is in the next meeting already and does not want to be disturbed."

Nic stared at Ellen for a moment in disbelief, then started picking her phone out of her bag.  
"I´ll call him." Energetically she dialed Conrad´s number, but after the sixth time ringing his mailbox-announcement declared snippy:  
"Here Conrad Hawkins. Leave a message." Beep.

"Conrad, it´s me. We´re wondering where you are, please call me."  
Nic tried to keep her voice calm, it was´nt unusual that Conrad dissappeard for a short period of time, and was probably just wandering around the clinic somewhere. She hung up and looked around. Irving must have seen her disturbance:  
"He´ll be alright," he said. "Probably the meeting with Bell and his father was too much for his little heart, and he just had to get some fresh air." He smiled encouragingly.

"You´re right, Irv. Still I´ll try to reach him over his beeper."

"And if he has not answered in a few minutes we can still go and search for him. The ER is a snoozefest anyway at the moment."  
Irving showed a theatrical yawn and made a `very unsuspicious´ approach towards the coffee machine in the callroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3.

Dr. Devon Pravesh looked up from the sink and studied his face in the mirror.  
The continuing night shifts of the past weeks were written all over his face, as was the canceled wedding with Priya. Dark circles rimmed his eyes.

He had just washed his hands and splashed some ice-cold water in his face to wake up again. Only three more hours, then he could go home and collapse in his lone bed. A quick espresso in the cafeteria, then he would be back to 100 percent.

His cell phone rang and he expected to see Conrad´s number on the display, his mentor driving him crazy after the miserable meeting in the executive suite, to finally pick up Mr. Schwenkensteiners bloodcount or removing the feeding tube from Mrs. Prutesi. But it was Nic´s number flashing on the display.

"Devon, did you see Conrad?" Nic dashed forward without waiting for a greet from Pravesh.  
It took him a second to recapitulate the question.

"Conrad? He´s on this super-important meeting with Bell and Winthrop, isn´t he?"  
Devon glanced at his wristwatch. 3:34. Actually, the meeting should have ended quite a while ago.

"The meeting has long been over, but Conrad has not reappeared here," Nic confirmed his thoughts, her voice sounding unnaturally tense.  
"Devon, I have a bad feeling. Something´s really wrong." He heard her swallowing before she continued.  
"Elaine from the board office said Conrad had been sick and Bell made him go home. But Conrad is never sick."  
Her voice died. Pravesh knitted his eyebrows.  
"How can I help?"

On the other end of the line it sounded like Nic was walking quickly down a hallway, then he heard her voice echoing in one of the washrooms: "Conrad, are you here?"

"Nic!" Devon had to raise his voice to regain her attention.  
"Nic, where are you right now?"

"I´m in the east wing, right next to the emergency room."  
"Okay, then I go to the north wing next to the board room and see if I can find him there."

A brief silence followed, then a soft snivel that almost tore Praveshs heart. Nic did never sob. She was always composed, always in control. Sure, some things concerned her, and he had seen her cry before. But always away from public eyes, in a locked nurses room or an empty pantry. That was not Nic. She did not show nerves.

"Nic," Pravesh´s voice was gentle. "I´m sure he´s fine. We´ll find him. Do not worry."  
He heard Nic taking a deep breath. "Thanks, Devon."

* * *

But another 15 minutes later, there was still no trace of Conrad, and Nic´s mood swayed between growing concern and rising anger. How dare did Conrad, this arrogant snob? This loner, this egomaniac with no insight that others might worry about him. That others might care if he did not spoke nor eat for days, constantly paddling his own canoe and doing sports like a madman.

Conrad had not been well the last few days. She kept asking him if he had eaten. If he had a fever. But he had kept her at distance, going his ways with one of his little arrogantly and maybe even apologetic smiles.

If this hermit just sat somewhere outside on a park bench while she was running her feet off and racking her brain with worry, he would take a pasting from her he would´nt forget for a while.

For the umpteemth time Nic pulled out her phone and looked at the display. No message, no call. None of her whatsapp-messages were answered, not even read. She dialed Devon´s number again.

"I´m so mad, Devon. What if he really only did go home?" she spat into the phone.

Devon, on the other side of the building on his way to one of the men´s room he had not checked yet, smiled to himself.  
"Maybe he´s mad at himself, too, Nic, and that´s why he does not answer the phone."

"And why would he be mad at himself?"

„Because of the whole story with his dad. You know how Conrad can be. He feels vulnerable, and you are the last person he wants to seem weak at."

Nic snorted. "Then you give him a call, let´s see if you can get in touch with him."

Pravesh smiled, hung up, entered one of the fifth-floor washrooms, and dialed Conrad´s number with the other hand. He paused in the doorway as the phone dialed, glancing through the lavatory. No one there. He turned and was about to leave again as a cell phone rang in one of the dark booths.


	4. Chapter 4

Pravesh paused and pricked his ears.

"Conrad?"  
His eyes narrowed as he took the few steps to the rearmost cabin. The door was ajar, through the crack he vaguely recognized jeans and a pair of dark sneakers. Pravesh´s breathing quickened. Something was blocking the door from inside. Finally he managed to force it open. The sight it showed made him gasp.

Conrad lay crooky on his stomach, blood from a head wound on his temple mingling with the sour-smelling, nauseating fluidity on the floor. Immediately Pravesh squeezed through the door and crouched down next to his mentor. He exhaled in relief as his fingertips felt for the carotid artery and could feel a weak but steady pulse.

He heard the bathroom-door open and stared into the frightened eyes of a visitor of the ward.  
"I need help here," Pravesh snapped at the visitor.  
"Go get a nurse or a doctor, quick!"  
The man turned on his heel and stormed out. Pravesh focussed on Hawkins again.  
"Do not do that, Conrad. Please do not do that," he murmured as he turned Conrad to the side as gently as possible.

Moments later a puzzled male nurse poked his head through the bathroom door, followed by the even more puzzled face of Dr. Austin.  
"He has a head injury and is unconscious." Pravesh reported.  
"We need a neckbrace and a stretcher, fast."

The nurse turned on his heel to carry out the instructions while Dr. Austin for his part crouched down next to Conrads lifeless form and pulled out his stethoscope.  
"Did he inhale vomit?" he asked as he let the stethoscope wander over the back of their unconscious patient.  
"I can't say it, I just found him moments ago," replied Pravesh, earning a disapproving look from Austin.  
"I can't hear aspiration, but his heartbeat is weak. We need to get him out of here as soon as possible."

"Here´s the neckbrace."  
The male nurse handed the apparatus into the cabin. Together, the two doctors placed the device around the neck of the unconscious doctor to stabilize his head, then lifted and pulled him out of the cabin as gently as possible.

Outside the door, Henry the male nurse, had placed a stretcher. Conrad gave a small moan as several hands transferred him from the floor onto the stretcher, where Pravesh and Austin quick and with routine began examining the condition of their young colleague. While Austin kept an eye on the circulation system and gave instructions to the bystanders, Pravesh tried to bring Conrad back to consciousness. „Conrad? Conrad, can you hear me?"

* * *

Conrad groaned as he felt the floor move beneath him. Had he not already puked enough today? The stinging pain in his stomach now spread all over his entire side, back and shoulder seemed to be in flames.  
All this now joined by a throbbing headache. How had he gotten himself into this situation?  
And what was his situation anyway?

The dark washroom had been welcome as nausea and chills overcame him. He retched for an indefinite amount of time, got rid of his already small stomach contents until only gastric acid remained, making each heave even more painful.

At some point the gagging had died away, leaving Conrad bathed in sweat and leaning against the cabin wall, trembling. All he wanted was to close his eyes for a brief moment. But he could not do that. Something was very wrong, he knew that now. It was high time to ask Pravesh or one of his other colleagues for a bunk and an antiemetic.

Conrad took a deep breath and pushed his back against the wall. But his knees failed him: the fluid-loss, the little rest of the past days and the excruciating pain took their toll. Darkness rushed at him like a tunnel and he fell like a rock.


	5. Chapter 5

"Conrad, can you hear me?"

An annoying light in his eyes made Conrad wince, breathing faster.

"Easy, Conrad. We´ll take care of you."  
He swallowed and felt nausea rise again. Reflexively he turned on his side, retching nothing but clear liquid on the floor.  
Both Austin and Pravesh squinted.

Together they turned Conrad back on his back. Austin took the lead.  
"Wire him and place a venous line. I need 5 mg Metoclopramide."

Devon, who had checked the pupils and covered the head wound with a sterile patch, looked up.  
"Pupils are isocore, but I can´t get through to him."

Austins big left hand laid down suprisingly gently on the forehead of the injured man before him, the fingers of the right hand lying unerringly on the radial pulse point.

"Conrad," he urged.  
"Conrad, open your eyes, come on. You have to tell us what happened."

The resident moved his head uneasily and groaned again. Finally his eyelids lifted as under a heavy weight.

"There you are again." Austin smiled friendly.

"What happenend?" Conrad groaned, his gaze wandering back and forth between his two colleagues in growing confusion. Involuntarily his hand shot to his abdomen.

"Thats what we ask you, Bud."  
Austin could not resist a slightly mocking tone, then his eyes became serious again, his gaze slipping down Conrads curled form and came to rest on his hand.

"Pain in the upper abdomen?" he asked with concern.

Conrads lips tightened and he nodded. He almost could not suppress a scream as Austin began to palpate the abdominal wall.

"Radiating in the back and right shoulder," Conrad filled in between clenched teeth. Austin nodded.

"I need a sono and an internist," he demanded as his fingers searched and found a specific spot in Conrads abdomen.  
"Inhale, Conrad." The young resident winced in pain.

Austin turned to Pravesh:  
"Harvard: hepatitis, stomach ulcer or gallbladder?"  
Pravesh swallowed, lifting his eyes from Conrads tense face and stared defiantly at Austin.  
"Based on his age, diet, habits and the just shown Murphy sign I´m guessing for acalculous gallbladder inflammation."  
His symphathetic gaze met Conrad again.

"Not too bad, Harvard," Austin acknowledged.  
"Then lets take a look." He handed the intern the ultrasound transducer. The device wandered over Conrads rigid abdomen.

"Here, you can clearly see the congested bile."  
Devon stated with a little too much enthusiasm in Conrads opinion. Despite the pain, the resident turned his head to have a look at the monitor. Because of this he missed Nics distraught face, who just entered the door at this very moment.

"Henry informed me that you´ve found Conrad. What happened?" she asked startled, everyone present turning towards her. Conrad closed his eyes for a brief moment. He felt terrible that Nic had worried about him. But there she was already by his side, grabbing his free hand. Her other hand stroked reassuringly through his tousled hair. Her alarmed gaze flickered between Austin and Pravesh and finally searched the screen of the ultrasound machine.

* * *

"We'll do a full blood count and a CT, then we'll send you up to the OR," Austin explained a few minutes later.

It was hard for Conrad to meet Nic´s eyes. To see her blinking back tears, feeling her fingers trembling in his hand, her frightened gaze as she listened intently to AJ´s explanations, was harder for him to bear than all the physical pain and anxiety he himself felt. He confided to his colleagues, no question, but to lie here on his back like an upturned beetle, in this state of helplessness, brought him close to his breaking point.

Nothing he wanted more in life than to protect Nic, to be there for her, to give her a safe feeling. But now he lay here, in his own hospital, collapsed out of his own stupidity. He hated himself for that.

"We stitch the laceration in course of the anesthesia," Austin explained with a grin.  
"Mina can do that. Conrad, you know the drill. Are there any questions?"

Conrad, whose whole attention was on his own thoughts and the small circles Nics thumb painted on the back of his hand, snapped back to reality and shook his head.  
"I will be glad to see the back of that. Go ahead."


	6. Chapter 6

The prep for anesthesia wasn't new for Conrad. Monitoring-electrodes on his chest, needles, annoying questions. Having seen it on patients many times and being in this unpleasant situation himself once or twice because of needing knee surgery due to an bike accident made him rationally believe he knew what was coming. But he had totally forgotten about the feeling being in such a vulnerable position.

From the outside you always thought it was an easy way to go. But when you lay back on this table, saw all sorts of equipment, heard the sounds, felt the helplessness of the situation, you brutally felt the fear of giving up control to someone else.

Having a colleague on his table let the usually quiet and inconspicuous Dr. Chu only be even more thoroughly in his routine. Everyone in the clinic knew Dr. Hawkins. And the experienced anesthesiologist did not miss the elevated heart rate in combination with a low blood pressure which, according to experience, was accompaniing an unpleasant dizziness and anxiety in the chest. The usually over the top active, running and generally being all over the place resident must be feeling awful being stuck on an operation-table.

Paul Chu could see how much self-control it cost the young doctor to lie still and let the anesthesiologist do his job. His heart seemed to beat out of his chest, as Dr. Chu startet his routine. He was aware that Conrad deliberately tried to calm his breathing and with that slowing down his heartbeat.

A warm hand settled on Conrad's shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked up into Pauls sympathetically smiling face.

"Don't worry, Conrad. We take good care of you."  
Conrad swallowed hard and nodded  
"I know."

The sharp pain in his gut made his face pucker, sending his heartrate to a new top.

Dr. Chu understood: he turned to the already open door of the OR and proclaimed with a for him unusual loud voice:  
"Guys, we have to get started here."

Turning back to Conrad he said softer:  
"I´m going to let you sleep now, Conrad. You can relax. In a minute the pain is gone."

He took hold of the propofol-injection, slowly pressing the substance into his patients bloodstream.

Conrad felt the liquid like burning ice in his vein and could barely answer "Thank you," before darkness and silence seized him and he slipped into deep unconsciousness.


	7. Chapter 7

Conrad slept like a log.

He had not moved since his last brief awakening in the ITS. His breathing was calm, barely noticeable, and so Nics gaze kept wandering to the monitors he was still wired to since he had been brought up to the internistic ward at noon.  
What a paradox: a doctor as a patient in his own department.

Devon had dropped by, Mina, even AJ Austin had made sure that Conrad was recovering well from the dramatic emergency surgery. And that´s what it looked like if you only depended on the monitors alone. The heartbeat was steady, maybe a little slow. Blood pressure in the normal range, albeit a bit low.

But Nic was facing the truth, holding Conrads cold hand in her own warm one for hours to let him feel her closeness.  
She was aware how unnatural this quietness was for her otherwise agile, even restless boyfriend. No muscle moved to indicate that Conrad might be dreaming or being close to waking up. His face was pale, except for the unhealthily flushed cheeks, showing a low but persistent fever.

Conrad was seldom sound asleep. Short periods of deep relaxation usually alternated with vivid, sometimes frightening dreams. Often, when Nic awoke at night, he stared at the ceiling with blank, tired eyes as he lay in bed beside her, or was pretending to read a book.

No, seeing Conrad lying that lifeless in a hospital bed was not natural, and Nic could not help but keep her eyes on his face, on his chest, which rose and fell barely noticeably. And on the monitoring screen, that assured her that he did not secretly slip away.

She had pulled the only chair in the room beside his bed to hold his hand, but Conrad seemed to be far away, in a place where she could not reach him. Would he find his way back, or lost himself in the labyrinth of dreams ... or nightmares?

* * *

A movement at the door tore Nic out of her gloomy thoughts.

"Nurse Nevin,"  
Marshall Winthrops face was pale as his son´s, he was breathing heavily as if he had run.  
He stopped dead in the doorway and swallowed.

"I heard about it only a few hours ago und flew back right away."

Conrads father stepped closer tot he bed, but seemed to remain undecided for a few more long seconds. Finally he asked simply  
"How is he?"

Nics smile was weary.

"Pretty good, he came through surgery and is stable now."

Was she trying to convince herself? Nic was always on the positive side, always trying to calm down patients' relatives. But here she was a ´relative´ herself. Did not she herself needed encouragement, reassurance?

To her astonishment, the unapproachable Mr. Winthrop seemed to sense this and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"He is strong. I'm sure he'll get through this."  
He squeezed her shoulder, then gently put his big hand on his son's. A small smile crossed his face.  
"He looks so young."

Nic smiled, too and looked up.

"I'm sure he's glad you're here, Mr. Winthrop."

"Please, call me Marshall."  
The two of them shook hands, and to Nic's astonishment the otherwise distant, in Conrad's description cold and unapproachable father held her hand a few seconds longer than necessary and squeezed it gently and reassuringly. In his eyes, the nurse read deep affection, something like sadness and ... shame?

"Nicolette." Marshall's smile widened slightly.

"You look tired, Nicolette. How many hours have you been here?"

Nic slightly shrugged her shoulders, her right thumb subconsciously painting small circles on the back of Conrads lax hand. Marshall pinched his lips.

"Do you not want to get a coffee and something to eat?" he asked precautiously.  
Resistance flared up in her tired eyes, but he contiuned in his reassuring deep voice.  
"I'll stay with Conrad in the meantime and call you when he wakes up."

"Accept the offer, Nic, you look awful," came a harsh voice from the door.  
Mina leaned in the doorway, holding a cup of icechips in her hand.

"Has he still not woken up?" Mina walked around the bed, set the cup on the nightstand, and grabbed Conrad's wrist to feel the pulse.  
"Your boyfriend is really a late riser. We should perhaps change his name into Sleeping Beauty."

Her gaze slid to the monitor and Mina put the back of her hand on the sleeping man's forehead. Seemingly cool and uninvolved, Nic felt the deep affection and concern that Mina expressed with these routine gestures.

The nurse grimaced, but when she looked up at Marshall, who was still standing next to her, keeping an eye on the two women, she noticed a teasing pull on his left eyebrow.  
"You can rest. I promise you, I'll let you know when something changes."

Nic took a deep breath.  
"All right, all right. Coffee sounds really tempting."  
She stood up.  
"Would you like something, Mr. W ..?" She hesitated. "Marshall?"

He smiled.  
"Thanks, I don't need anything," he replied, settling in the chair that Nic had just vacated.

Both women nodded and, with one last look at Conrad's sleeping form, headed off toward the nearest cafeteria.


	8. Chapter 8

Marshall picked up the vigil that Nic had held for so many hours. He kept his eyes on the in his memory so young face of his only son for several minutes until he could bring himself to reach for the cold hand that lay on the mattress. His thumb painted small circles on the back of this hand subconsciously, just as Conrads girlfriend did before and in his mind Marshall repeated the last conversation of the two in Bell's office.

How could he not have noticed how ill Conrad was? Or had he noted it subconsciously and, influenced by their common history, had decided to not address it? What kind of father had he been for his son? The eternal arguments, the harsh words, all the disappointments and mutual accusations of the years when Conrad had been a child and a teenager. The relentless struggle over child custody, where at some point Marshall himself had not known anymore whether he was fighting for his child or just for his honor.

Then the years of silence. The ignorance. The deep buried fear for Conrad, of whom he did not know what he had to experience in Afghanistan. The years of uncertainty whether he would ever again see his son unharmed, alive. And yet he had not been able to bring himself to bury the hatchet, contact his only child and let him know that he would always be there for him.

Marshall's heart tightened as he thought about the lost time.

He wanted to make amends, wanted to be close to Conrad again. Wanted to tell him that he was sorry for what he had done, not done, said, and had not said. A single tear ran down his face, and he did not notice it until it caught in his stubble and tickled his chin. Marshall raised his hand and ran it over his tired face, got up and rummaged confused in his jacket for a handkerchief.

"Dad?"

Conrad's voice was rough and barely audible. But Marshall spun around as if he had heard an explosion. His breath caught as he bent over his son.

"Yes, Conrad, I'm here."

Conrad needed a few seconds to become fully aware of his surroundings. To realize who was standing in front of him. He stared at his father and took a few deep breaths. A monitor beeped and indicated an elevated heartrate. Marshall's gaze wandered up for a moment. "Easy, Conrad. All is well. The procedure went well and the doctors say you will be better soon."

Marshall took hold of Conrad's hand, to his delight he felt Conrad squeeze it back tight.  
Slightly confused the young resident kept his eyes on his father. His brain felt slurry and it took him quite an effort to think clearly. Finally, he phrased the only question that currently came to his mind.  
"How old am I?"  
The question was so absurd that Marshall needed a few seconds to understand the meaning of it. He chuckled in surprise and squeezed Conrad's hand.  
"You are 34, son. Do not worry. All is well."

Conrad nodded absently and his eyelids began to drop again.  
"No, no, no, you have to stay awake a bit, Conrad. You've been sleeping too long already."

He reached for the cup of ice chips that Mina had left on the bedside-table and gently fed Conrad a few. His son seemed to enjoy the coolness and relief they brought. He was still breathing restlessly and his heartbeat had not quite returned to a normal rhythm.

"How do you feel? Are you in pain? Shall I call a doctor?"  
Conrad closed his eyes and swallowed.  
"I am a doctor, Dad."  
This time it was Marshall's turn to roll his eyes.  
"What are you doing here"? Marshall understood the question, and traced back the slightly defensive tone to the pain and confusion of his son after the anesthetic. He decided to ignore the brief sting in his chest that these harsh words triggered in him.  
Instead, he set the cup back on the table and pulled his chair closer to the bed.

"I found out only a few hours ago that you collapsed after our meeting and had to undergo surgery. I boarded the next available plane back from Pennsylvania."

Marshall bit back the question why Conrad had ignored his illness until it was too late. They were two of a kind, so he knew the answer.

Conrad locked eyes with his father for a long while, then his lips curled into a reluctant smile.  
"It was´nt necessary to come."  
He felt Marshalls warm hand on his.  
"I wanted it, though," he said firmly.  
"I want to be there to you."

The two men looked each other in the eyes, the next word seemed to glide over Conrads lips only half conscious:  
"Thank you."

"Look, who's awake." Devon had just slipped a gaze through the door and now joyfully entered the room.  
"Mr. Winthrop." He gave Conrad's father a friendly nod.  
"I am Dr. Devon Pravesh and your son's attending physician."  
A triumphant smile crossed Devon's face and he looked provocatively to Conrad before reaching for his patients wrist to feel the pulse. The played mocking turned quickly into real concern, as he took in the still increased heartrate.

"How do you feel, Conrad? Are you in pain?"  
Conrad shook his head wearily.  
"No, I'm just tired."  
"What about the nausea? Aftermath of the anesthesia?"

Conrad looked up.  
"Did I puke again?" he asked dryly.  
"Like a kangaroo in a rollercoaster," jested Devon, reaching into his pocket.

Conrad rolled his eyes, but seemed to not mind the joke of his young colleague. He let Devon help him sit up into a more upright position and allowed him to check his breathing and heartrate with the stethoscope.

"You'll probably feel drowsy for a while longer. You gave us quite a scare."  
"Sorry for that," Conrad answered seriously. "Was not my intention."  
He sank back onto the pillows. "How long was I out?"

Devon quickly looked at his wristwatch.  
"After surgery yesterday afternoon, you woke up twice in the ICU, but you probably have no memory of that."

Conrad nodded.

"This morning we moved you to the internistic ward, after your vitals had stabilized overnight and you did not try to puke a lung at the slightest opportunity."

Marshalls gaze wandered startled from one doctor to another. This kind of conversation among colleagues seemed to shock him, but Conrad answered unimpressed.  
"I know I´m not doing well with the anesthesia. It´s in my chart."

"Then maybe you should make sure you do not end up again on an operating table in the near future."  
Devon's voice had a mock undertone, but both Conrad and Marshall could hear the subtle concern that accompanied these words.  
Devon put the stethoscope around his collar and laid a gentle hand on his mentor's shoulder.

In a adjuratory tone he said:  
"You have to take better care of yourself, Conrad. We were all very worried about you." Conrad understood and closed his eyes for a moment. Devon was not finished yet and continued:  
"Please, next time come to one of us if you feel bad. Scratching you unconcious from a toilet floor is an experience I do not wish to repeat."

Conrad realized what a shock it must have been to his young intern and to all his colleagues, including Nic, to find him lifeless in this intricate position. He shifted uncomfortable on his bed. Pravesh continued:  
"You would expect exactly the same from me, from Nic or anybody." Conrad nodded and swallowed.  
"I'm sorry, Devon. For real."

The two friends exchanged a look and Devon's mouth twisted in a crooked smile.  
"I will remind you of that!"


End file.
